


All I Found

by orphan_account



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Homestead AU, Light BDSM, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Threesome - F/M/M, Viking Family Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-20 12:53:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2429564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athelstan has worked hard his entire life, through school, scholarships, university, internships, and eventually into a demanding career, always in the pursuit of an elusive modern happiness. Frustrated and confused, he takes a summer leave from his job and embarks on a cross-country cycling trip. His plan is to stop at Lothbrok Farm for a few days of rest, but things don’t go exactly as planned. What does he find there? Or will he be the one who is found?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Way to Lothbrok Farm

Athelstan rode just as he had been riding for days: Two feet rotating endlessly down endless country roads, past endless fields of corn and wheat and beans. The sun was setting somewhere behind an overcast sky and despite the pain of his exhaustion he was still about a half an hour from his destination. 

He was heading towards a small farmstead he had found online while researching cheap places to stay a few months ago. Or at least he hoped he was. 

He had spent the afternoon chasing a sad, smudged red dot on a sad, rain-washed map that had, only three days before, been soaked through by an unexpected downpour. The exact address of the farm was lost in a puddle of blue ink, but he was pretty sure he remembered the family name: Lothbrok. He just hoped that they had a sign, and that they remembered he was coming. 

It had been a week since he had slept on anything other than hard roadside gravel, a week since his last hot shower and nearly a three weeks since his last shave. He was running low on food and running low on water. The rear gear of his bike had been clicking for the past ten kilometers, his chain was thick with grit, his front wheel was dragging, bearings threatening to seize. What was once a top-of-the-line fully-functional touring bike was now barely in working condition. 

At this moment, however, Athelstan’s only interest was finding Lothbrok Farm. It was exactly the kind single-mindedness that he had started this journey is search of.

He stopped for a rest at the next intersection, a quiet, near-deserted crossing of two near-identical roads. He braced himself as his foot hit the pavement. The full weight of his panniers acting as a reminder of everything he owned in the world, and of everything he was responsible for.

The sun disappeared, and the previously grey clouds turned black. There were no lights anywhere on the horizon, and in the darkness he found himself losing focus. His head spun as he reached for the water bottle strapped to his hip. “Water, headlamp, Lothbrok Farm.”, he thought with determination. He tipped his head back, brought water to his lips, and with a wave a nausea, fear and relief he collapsed on the side of the road.

~~~~ 

It took all of Ragnar’s control to not slam the door as he left the meeting at the Central Farmhouse.

Haraldson was testing him. Pushing the clearly delineated conditions of their tenuous partnership. Angling their relationship into something Ragnar couldn’t stand. Haraldson wanted to be his leader. He wanted Ragnar to take his demands as orders. 

It started out small: Haraldson tried to convince Ragnar to limit the diversity of the crops he grew, preferring to have Ragnar and Lagertha’s farm grow only ‘cash crops’, while the smaller farms grew companion crops, more vegetables and a greater variety of grains. Ragnar rejected the idea immediately, and Haraldson didn’t pursue the idea any further.

Then Haraldson tried to ban Ragnar and his family from participating in the local agricultural fair, for some deluded reason the Lothbrok’s shouldn’t be interacting with the ‘outside’ world. Ragnar didn’t understand Haraldson's out-group prejudice, and was certain that secrecy would only hurt their way of life. That, and he knew his son Bjorn wanted cotton candy.

Haraldson choose the pest control and natural fertilization regimes that all of the Kattegat Collective farms would use, for consistency and to save money with bulk orders. Ragnar chose to not use certain treatments he thought were unnecessary, often behind Haraldson’s back. Haraldson hated when Ragnar went against him, even though their agreement was clear on the matter of Ragnar’s independence. 

Now Haraldson was trying to tell him to give up his beehives to the Central Farm. His daughter Gyda loved working the hives, she had a talent for beekeeping that no one else in the collective seemed to have, and a passion he rarely saw in his timid daughter. But all Haraldson saw was an important asset under Ragnar’s control. And he could not stand it. “Give them up, they should be at the central farm for all of the collective to have access to.” 

Haraldson was a smart man, but also a jealous man. 

“If you want beehives, then you build beehives. I couldn’t stop you. You should ask Gyda to help.” Ragnar didn’t understand jealousy, especially when everyone is supposedly free to make their own decisions, but he did know it was a weakness. 

His brother Rollo wanted to end the partnership all together, take their farms out of the Kattegat Collective and try to be sustainable on their own. “Or we could push him out.” He said to Ragnar afterwards, his voice quiet but forceful.

“I doubt I would ever consent to pushing a person off of his own land.”

As much as Ragnar wanted to avoid any sort of external control on his lifestyle and choices, he also knew that his farm and his family was stronger with a community than without.

They shared resources, important and expensive machinery like their combine and their air seeder, they shared crops, honey and meat, a variety of fruits and vegetables. They shared labour, whenever there was a job too big for one person or one family they could rely on everyone in Kattegat to work together. 

“Most of the other farmers would join us, they would follow you.” Rollo insisted. 

Ragnar laughed at that. “You mean they would follow Lagertha. Haraldson would have never tried that shit if Lagertha were here.” 

Rollo smiled a small, grim smile as he got into his own truck. “I guess we would all follow Lagertha, if we had the choice.”

No, Ragnar really couldn’t understand jealousy, though thought about it during the quiet drive back to the farm, trying not to seethe at Haraldson’s attempts to control him. As he came to the last stop sign between Haraldson’s farm and his own his mind registered something, reflectors on bags, a bike, a helmet. His chest jumped with fear, and he quickly forgot the motivations of one man, in favour of helping the listless, collapsed pile of another.

~~~

Athelstan remembered a man. And being lifted up from the ground and into the lukewarm night. 

He remembered the texture of a pick-up truck seat on his face. 

He remembered a woman, gold hair and light. 

He remembered concern and care and a cold damp cloth at his forehead. 

He does not remember being afraid. 

A rare state.

~~~

Athelstan woke in a small but comfortable bed, in a comforting but very unfamiliar place. He stayed still at first. He preferred to move when he knew it was wise. His eyes scanned the room. It was a dim and simple space, dominated by dark wood and cream coloured plaster walls, accented by cotton curtains with yellow flowers that glowed with the light of the midday sun. There was a small wooden chair beside the bed with two big blue eyes peeking through the spokes. The eyes went wide as they connected with his own.

“Mother!” A young girl, maybe nine or ten years old, jumped up from behind the chair and shouted towards the door. She was wearing a soft yellow sundress that flowed with her long yellow hair as she moved. “Mother! Father! He’s awake! Athelstan is awake!” The shout is loud, but sweet, and would have made Athelstan smile, if he hadn’t tried to move first. Instead he groaned. Moving was a terrible mistake. 

He heard another set of small feet running towards the door. Another set of blue eyes peered suspiciously around the doorframe. It was a boy with similar blonde hair, a bit younger than the girl.

Behind the boy a man appeared, also blonde with a thick beard and long, tied-back hair. He was like a giant next to the children, so tall and so broad that he nearly filled the doorframe with his presence. Both his light grey t-shirt and work jeans were clean, well-worn and thin in places with holes around the collar and in the knees. He appeared calm, and happy to see that the scruffy, unwashed and undoubtedly odorous cyclist was awake.

Althelstan moved more tentatively this time, shifting in place. His were muscles stiff and sore. Every inch of him ached. He felt weak.

“Good morning Athelstan, you gave us a bit of a scare last night.” He paused at Athelstan’s confusion. “Oh, you don’t remember. ” The man moved closer and offered him his free hand. “I’m Ragnar, Ragnar Lothbrok.”

“Lothbrok….” Athelstan repeated, in shock or in awe, he’s not sure which. He shook the hand, slowly processing what had happened, and where he’d ended up. “You know my name?”

Ragnar laughed a soft, hearty laugh. “Your name? You mean ‘Athelstan’ the name written on your jacket, and your backpack and on the inside of each of your shoes? Or do you mean ‘Athelstan’ the name of the cyclist that was supposed to be lodging here two nights ago, but never showed up.” Ragnar leaned in further to hand Athelstan the glass of water he was carrying. “Or do you mean ‘Athelstan’ the delirious man who babbled his named to me, while briefly conscious in the cab of my truck last night?”.

Athelstan, quite embarrassingly, felt himself turn pink. “I’m all of those Athelstan’s, I suppose.” He paused to take a sip of water, but found once he started to drink he couldn’t stop. He finished the glass, and looked up at Ragnar. “Thank you for picking me up last night. I don’t think many people would stop for a strange man they found on the side of the road.”

“You aren’t a strange man, you are our lost lodger!” Ragnar looked jolly. Definitely jolly. “You were maybe a bit worse off than we expected. Maybe you haven’t had enough rest lately, enough to drink, enough food?” Athelstan’s blush deepened. Ragnar was very close, and Athelstan was suddenly aware that he was stripped down to his t-shirt, shorts and socks, laying under the home-made quilt of a stranger.

“Don’t worry! Many of us have forgotten to take care of ourselves while in search of… “ Ragnar gestured widely at Athelstan. “...Ourselves.” Ragnar paused, he seemed suddenly aware that he was making Athelstan uncomfortable. He pulled back into the centre of the room.

“I can get Gyda and Bjorn to bring some toast and tea for you. If you like? Gyda?” The girl jumped enthusiastically to her father’s side. “This is my daughter Gyda. And my son Bjorn is the one hiding in the hallway. He’s shy.”

“I am NOT shy.” Bjorn spoke for the first time. 

“Hmm yes. I often mistake shy for stubborn. Would you two like to get Athelstan some food and some tea? He needs to rest a bit longer.” Gyda nodded and ran off, grabbing her brother by the arm, telling him: “You make the best tea, Bjorn!” She said it like it was an order, and the younger boy followed her.

“Really, I think I’m okay.” Athelstan started to lift himself onto his elbows, ready to get up out of the bed. 

“Ah, ah! Stay here and rest? A bit longer. You need it.”

Althelstan’s eyes widened slightly at the suggestion, but he nodded back at Ragnar anyway. It was a request that was easy to give in to and Athelstan fell back into bed with a sort of lightness he was unused to. After a few moments his head stopped spinning.

“Good.” Ragnar turned to leave the room. “At least you know you are in the right place now.” 

~~~~

Gyda brought up the ‘tea and toast’ on a metal tray that was about as wide as she was tall. In addition to the toast, which was thick and grainy and obviously home-made, there was an assortment of possible toppings: Butter, cheeses, jellies and jams, some sort of smoked meat, and sliced pickles. 

“Bjorn got the milk this morning, and Daddy made the jam from the wild strawberries he found in the bush this spring. Mommy made the summer sausage in her smokehouse. We all helped with the cheese and the butter, but I made this!” She lifted a lid off of a small jar, eyes twinkling. “Well, me and the bees. Try it!” 

Athelstan was unable to resist, he broke a corner off of the toast, dipped it into the honey jar, and popped it into his mouth. It was delicious, and he was starving. Gyda giggled at Athelstan as he ate.

“Put some into the tea, too! Bjorn steeped it just for you, but he’s out fishing now.” The tea was a strange mixture of dried herbs and flowers that Athelstan didn’t recognise. There was some mint, and maybe chamomile, but beyond that he couldn’t guess. It was good, though it probably didn’t need the honey.

Athelstan was so focused on his meal that he almost didn’t notice when a woman appeared in the doorway. She was tall and broad like Ragnar, yet somehow more intimidating. Possibly because she was wearing heavy coveralls with a big leather toolbelt full of implements Athelstan couldn’t identify. Or possibly because of the splash of blood on her cheek that ran like a streak through her tightly braided hair. She eyed him with an intensity that Athelstan didn’t recognise.

“Last night a calf was born to one of our best milking cows.” She said, as if this explained something. “I’m the one who usually attends the meeting that Ragnar was coming home from last night when he found you.” Athelstan still didn’t understand, but he nodded at the woman anyway.

“Ragnar has always been a bit soft. He can’t help himself. You are lucky I was busy with the calf and sent Ragnar instead. I think I would have just driven by.” She said, with a hint of regret. Athelstan didn’t know what to say to that.

“I would have been fine?” Athelstan asked, not knowing himself.

“Well, I guess even with the rain last night and the ten degree temperature drop, there is a small chance you could have avoided hypothermia.” The woman crossed her brow and held her hand out to Athelstan, just as Ragnar had. 

“I’m Lagertha.” Athelstan’s hand was sticky with honey when she took it. Her handshake was firm and her hands were rough. “ And I’m glad you made it here. No matter what state you’re in.” She stepped back, and paused. She considered Athelstan further. He squirmed under her gaze.

“In bathroom down the hall there is a bathtub with fresh towels. Shower. Dinner is at 7 PM. Sharp.” Both were hard commands, clearly not intended to be optional, not that Athelstan would have disobeyed. “Come on Gyda, let’s leave Athelstan alone to sleep while we go finish our chores.” Lagertha guided Gyda out of the room leaving Athelstan with his food and tea.

“Sleep.” Was the last thing she said to him as she left.

He finished his meal, enjoying every last bit, and checked the time. It was almost four thirty, he had plenty of time for one more nap, and no desire to do anything else, anyway.

~~~~

Athelstan woke up again naturally to the warm and sunny room. The food and the rest had done wonderful things to him. His head was clear and the pain in his body had mostly subsided, although his muscles still ached a bit. A shower would help. 

He got up from the bed and found his backpack and panniers in a pile at one end of the room, along with his shoes and with all of his belongings except for his bike. He was not worried, even though he didn’t understand why.

He found the cleanest t-shirt in his bag and the cleanest pair of boxer briefs, grabbed his dopp kit and headed off in search of the bathroom. The hallway was bright and minimal, with matte grey painted plaster walls, pine trim and floors, and simple utilitarian lighting hanging from the ceiling. There was a big wooden window at the end of the hall that looked out over the farm. 

It was Lothbrok Farm. 

From the hall Athelstan could see a green and white barn, a few fruit trees and a lot of corn under a blue sky. The grandfather clock in the hall said it was a little after 6 PM. Just enough time. 

Athelstan found the bathroom to his right, beside the window. It had a huge wall mirror, two sinks, and a clawfoot tub with a shower head that he found quite inviting. His shower was long, or at least longer than he typically took. He didn’t want to waste the Lothbrok’s hot water, but he also relished the feeling of a hot shower after so much time on the road. 

The soap was home-made too. Athelstan was noticing a pattern. It had a clean scent with a hint of lavender. It was charming, for sure, but it also it was clear that the Lothbrok’s weren’t typical farmers. 

After his shower he took a long look at himself in the mirror. He was thinner than when he left the metropolitan City of Wessex, leaner, but with noticeably more muscle. He had distinct tan lines where his shirts ended and his forearms began. A 'farmers tan'.

His hair was getting long too, longer than would be considered respectable at his workplace, and he sort of liked it that way. He trimmed some of the wilder bits, but left the length as it was. As his hair dried it started to form dark curls. His ‘beard’ would have to go, though. It was a more a rough collection of thin and spotty scruff that, unlike Ragnar’s, looked more dirty than manly. He had never grown his facial hair this long either, it was like seeing his true face for the first time. He liked that shaving it was his choice, however, not something demanded of him, and he liked the look of his skin, clean and smooth.

He used the soap to clean some of the dirt from his only pair of shorts, and wondered idly if the Lothbrok’s had a washing machine he could use, or if that was something he’d have to do by hand. He pulled on his t-shirt, a soft cotton blue thing with a turquoise map of the Great Lakes screenprinted onto it.

Athelstan left the bathroom feeling like a different man. It was a step in the right direction, anyway.

~~~~

The grandfather clock told him it was quarter to six, which was just early enough for Athelstan to feel on time. He made his way downstairs to where he supposed the kitchen would be. It was an odd feeling, to be inside a place but not recall how he got there. He must have been carried up the stairs, an idea that roused strange feelings in him.

His search for the kitchen was aided greatly by the scent of roasted onions, garlic and chicken that came wafting towards him. He rounded the corner into the kitchen addition, it was a big, open room with high ceilings, full of light, and wood and stainless steel. 

In it, Ragnar and Lagertha were working together to finish what looked like a feast. They had both changed out of their work clothes. Athelstan was quiet, and they didn’t notice him. Ragnar was wearing a less worn version of his earlier clothes, but Lagertha looked starkly different. Her face was clean, she was wearing a long, loosely fitting sundress, and her waist-length hair had been let down.

They were beautiful together. Athelstan reckoned they were beautiful apart as well, but it was nothing compared to seeing them together for the first time. They both moved fluidly through the kitchen, stirring pots, checking on whatever was in the oven, moving bowls of greens and vegetables from the counter to the large harvest table in the centre of the room. 

They spoke softly to each other, small communications that guided them through their dance. Things like: “The potatoes are perfect.” and “That dish is hot.” and “Stir the gravy for me?”. Small touches and glances spoke too. Athelstan didn’t realize he was starting until Ragnar caught his gaze. There was a quiet moment of straight-on eye contact, it reminded Athelstan he was there and that this was real real. For a brief moment Athelstan felt like he was out of place. Like he didn’t belong in such a private scene.

“Athelstan!” Ragnar said, holding a bowl of roasted carrots and turnips in one hand and a bowl of salad greens in another. “Want to help us? We’re almost ready.” 

Lagertha smiled at him, she was getting ready to cut up the chicken. “You can set the table. The plates and cutlery are on the counter, right there.” She pointed, then returned to her work.

Athelstan moved tentatively to the counter and took the plates and cutlery into his arms. He was glad to have a job. When he was working all awkwardness left him. 

He placed each of the plates in front of each of the chairs, and gave each placement a fork, spoon and a knife. It was nice, it was wholesome. When he was done he looked to Lagertha again, who was finished with the chicken, and washing her hands with Ragnar at the sink. They were playfully fighting for possession of the soap.

“Ring the bell just outside that door, and the children will come in. Then we can eat.” Lagertha said to Athelstan, not looking away from her hands.

Athelstan felt compelled towards the back door. It led to a covered porch that looked out to a large garden, lined on each side with fruit trees. A long fence with vines growing up around it ran the length of the garden to the front of a large green and white bank barn. He rang the cast iron bell three times, and watched as Bjorn and Gyda appeared from opposite directions in the yard, each running full tilt towards the house. They shouted his name loudly as the ran through the garden. Athelstan sighed, and the children ran past him. “Come on Athelstan!” Bjorn shouted as soon as he got in the house. “You are going to be late for dinner.”

It took a few minutes for everyone to settle around the table. The kids washed their hands, and found their seats on either side of Athelstan. Lagertha and Ragnar sat across from him. Supper started immediately, with food being passed every way chaotically. It was a scene Athlelstan was unused to. He liked it. 

He heaped vegetable after vegetable onto his plate. Beets, carrots, potatoes, corn. More herbs and flavours than Athelstan could count. The salad was full of greens, lettuce, kale and swiss chard and a few Athelstan couldn’t identify, topped with warm bright red tomatoes that were so sweet and so juicy Athelstan thought he might be dreaming. “This is amazing, do you eat like this all the time?” 

“Well, we may have gone overboard with the variety… and Lagertha killed the chicken today and usually we only eat poultry on Sundays. But essentially yes.” Ragnar said between bites. 

Athelstan just smiled down at his food and continued eating with an enthusiasm that surprised even him. Apparently he had far too many protein bar suppers recently.

“How long have you been on the road, anyway?” Bjorn asked, staring at Athelstan’s nearly finished plate.

Athelstan swallowed. “I started in downtown Wessex at the end of May and I’ve been riding for almost three weeks now.” 

“Oh! Wessex is a BIG city isn’t it? Is it nice there? I bet there are parties every night!” Gyda said excitedly.

“Yes, it’s a very busy place. More people having more parties than you can even imagine.” Athelstan supposed his discomfort was written on his face. “But nowhere in the city is nearly as nice as the country you have here.” 

“Kattegat hardly ever has parties. But we had one last week for Bjorn’s birthday! Everybody came! And there was cake, and Bjorn got new boots.” 

“Kattegat?” The word was unfamiliar to Athelstan. He was pretty sure there was no Kattegat on his map. “I thought we were in the Township of Jutland?”

“Oh, no, Kattegat isn’t a town. It’s more of a…” Ragnar jumped in, “informally organized collection of farms and farmers with similar ideas. We call it the Kattegat Collective.”

“Oh.” Athelstan wondered internally if he had wandered a bit too far. “What sort of ideas?” 

“Well,” Lagertha explained, “We’re all organic farmers. We believe both in sustainable, natural farming practices, and in the importance of being self-sufficient. All of the food we eat comes from the Kattegat farms, and we share and trade freely between us. We believe in limited consumption and limited consumerism. We make most of what we use on the farm ourselves, when we can.” She spoke with a kind of honest intensity that Athelstan was not used to. 

“We all homeschool, but our kids also spend time together, both learning and socializing.” Ragnar continued. “But principally, we all believe in each others right to live without external control or interference. No person is being ruled by any other, and we respect the decisions and actions of our fellow Kattegatians.”

“I think the easiest way is to describe us is as homesteaders, but we’re also strongly community oriented. It’s important to work together. Cooperation without dependence.” Lagertha said firmly. So they were in some sort of libertarian collective? Questions flooded Athelstan’s mind, but his inherently diplomatic nature slowed his response.

“Is there any sort of…” Athelstan paused, searching for the right balance of clarity and sensitivity. “Religious component to what you do?” The Lothbroks didn’t look like cultists.

“Not really, I mean, Lagertha and I are atheists, but some of the families of Kattegat are religious. My best friend is a pagan. Respecting the belief systems of others is a part of our loose agreement.” Ragnar winked at Athelstan, although it was so fast Athelstan thought he might have imagined it. “We’re making an intentional effort to live a simpler, more sustainable life. But the politics can get quite complicated. Our life probably seems barbaric compared to your life in the city, eh Athelstan?” 

Athelstan froze, hoping the comment would pass. He didn’t want to think about his life in the city, nevermind talk about it. “It seems really nice here, actually. I mean, from what I’ve seen so far.” 

“What is it that you do in the city?” Bjorn was picking up on Athelstan’s discomfort, whether he understood it our not.

“Bjorn, respect our guest.” Ragnar warned. “You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to.”

“It’s okay, it’s not a secret. I work for the City of Wessex. Well, as a personal assistant for Mayor Ecbert. Even if I’m on leave I suppose I still work for him, technically.” He said, more to himself than to the Lothbroks.

Ragnar snorted, surprised, maybe. The look on his face was complicated, like he suddenly thought of Athelstan differently. Athelstan was used to that. Ecbert was a controversial figure at best, and loathed at worst, and Athelstan had seen it all.

“What does a ‘personal assistant’ do, exactly?” Lagertha asked as she nodded to her husband.

“Well,” Athelstan could feel himself deflate as he talked. It was a speech he had given many times, well prepared and well practiced. He just wasn’t sure he believed it any more. “I mostly do things like organize meetings and take notes. I research issues on the Mayor’s behalf and brief him on them. I arrange travel and write newsletters to his constituents. I’ve done things like buy presents for his wife and children on their birthdays and for major holidays. Pretty much anything the Mayor needs, I guess.” The words sounded empty to him, like lies, so he changed the subject. 

“Complicated politics are actually an interest of mine. It’s a part of the job description, you could say. I’d like to hear more about how Kattegat works. I’ve read about similar anti-authoritarian groups while I was at university, but I’ve never had the chance to actually, you know, experience one.” He smiled at his hosts.

Lagertha looked at Athelstan sympathetically. He was beginning to think she could read minds. “You know, Kattegat was Ragnar’s idea, he started it with the first three families almost eleven years ago. Now there are thirteen farms, with 2250 acres of farmland.” Everyone’s plates were empty, there was surprisingly little food left over. “But that’s a story for another time. Maybe around the campfire tomorrow?”

“Yes!” The kids said in unison. 

“Now, who is ready for dessert?” 

~~~~

It turned out that dessert was actually out in the yard, growing pink-red on the vines Athelstan had seen from the porch. Bjorn and Gyda ran ahead to the raspberry plants and started to pick handfuls of berries.

“We always go for a walk after supper. The dishes are patient. When it is raspberry season we pick ripe berries as we walk. It’s a good time of year for you to visit.” Lagertha told Athelstan, walking calmly but confidently on one side of him. 

“It’s always a good time at Lothbrok Farm.” Ragnar said, falling into step on the other side of Athelstan. “You’ll see.” 

Gyda ran back towards Athelstan, little hands full of berries. “Here! I picked these for you!”

“Oh, thanks Gyda. These are wonderful.” Athelstan popped a few into his mouth. They were sweet and ripe.

Bjorn followed his sister’s lead. “I picked more than Gyda.” Said Bjorn, not about to be outdone. “For you!” He dumped another pile of raspberries into Athelstan’s hands.

“Wow, thanks Bjorn.” And Gyda ran back to him with another small handful to make up for the shortcomings in her last.

“Hah. Umm. That’s probably enough for me.” Athelstan had more raspberries now than he thought he could eat without getting sick. When the kids were distracted he quickly and discreetly slipped half of the berries to Ragnar, who made a pleased noise and then passed a few off to a tutting Lagertha.

Behind the rows of raspberries Athelstan spotted a familiar form. “Oh! That’s where my bike got to!” He said, quickening his pace.

As he got closer to it his heart dropped. It was in much worse condition than he remembered. He tried to spin the front wheel, it was completely seized up, as was the rear wheel, the chain had snapped in half and his break pads here completely worn to the point where they should be utterly useless. And that’s just what he could see in a few moments.

“I think your bike is broken.” Bjorn said, a little too gleefully.

“Bjorn.” Lagertha said with warning.

“I will get my friend Floki to take a look at it next time he is here, he’s a mechanic and our millwright, and can fix or build nearly anything you’d need on a farm.” Ragnar supplied. “Including bikes.” He wrapped his arm around Athelstan’s shoulder and turned him away from the bike, back towards the house. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fixed soon enough.”

The sun disappeared behind the horizon as they walked back. After the kids disappeared into the house everything became quiet, the only sounds were the crickets and the sounds of the grass at Lagertha, Ragnar and Athelstan’s feet as they walked. Athelstan felt warm. His face felt warm. His eyelids felt heavy. 

“You better go rest some more. You don’t look like you’ve quite recovered yet.” Ragnar said as they reached the back porch.

“Yes.” Said Lagertha. “Upstairs. Go back to bed.”

Tired, Athelstan was only too happy to obey. He climbed the stairs with heavy legs, heading back towards his room.

~~~

Athelstan fell to his bed like a stone, and lay there like a stone for some time. Although his body was clearly exhausted, his mind was whirring with all that he had seen and learned over the past couple of hours. Conversations ran over and over through his mind. He relived every smile and twinkle and frown of concern.

Over the years Athelstan had gotten very good at telling when people were lying, and the Lothbroks were nothing but honest to him all evening. He used to think he was a pretty good judge of character too, but he’d recently realized that some people were just better at concealing their true natures than he was at seeing them.

Still, the Lothbroks weren’t lying to him when they told him he could stay a while to regain his strength and fix his bike. Athelstan was pretty sure he’d never met anyone so generous, and doubted any such person truly existed, nevermind two. He didn’t know what they wanted from him, but he certainly couldn’t trust them. Not again. Not yet. 

The conclusion soothed him into sleep.

~~~~

It was late when Athelstan woke, or he maybe didn’t, in a hazy state of sleepy confusion he couldn’t exactly tell.

He could recall a distant thumping, the creak of old floorboards and the closing of a door somewhere down the hall of the farmhouse. Murmurs of happy hushed voices, low laughs and deep groans made their way through the plaster wall beside his bed to where he lay half awake, listening and dreaming along. The rhythm of his name was barely audible, falling from lips, against skin he could not see, except maybe in his mind. 

Warm in his own arousal, he fell deeper into the illusion of strong arms and rough hands and being enveloped in lavender-scented hair, his subconscious crafting another secret for him to keep.


	2. A Place That Fits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athelstan learns more about how Lothbrok Farm operates, meets Floki the Millright, and tries his hardest to be useful.

The rooster crowed at dawn. The quaintness of this wasn’t lost on Athelstan, who had up until that moment thought that roosters crowed whenever they pleased, and that the whole dawn thing was the stuff of folk tales.

On the road he had always gotten up with the light. Sleeping in the open air meant sleeping to the natural rhythm of the day and at first he found it jarring. He had been a creature of the clock for so long, always on time, often punctual to a fault. He was always where he was supposed to be, doing exactly what he was supposed to be doing. 

When he left the City he lost all of that. He had nowhere to be, and nobody telling him what he should be. It was terrifying, but far better than the alternative. He couldn’t stay in Wessex, even though it went against every fibre of his being to leave.

Shortly after the rooster came the footsteps. 

First, the quick and light steps of the children as they sprinted up the stairs from their bedrooms on the main floor and burst into their parents room, followed by giggling and the reluctant, heavy footsteps of an adult, probably Ragnar. He could barely hear Lagertha whisper “Shush children, you’ll wake Athelstan.”, but it was there, and the consideration made him smile.

Athelstan listened as Ragnar and the children tiptoed back downstairs, while Lagertha moved about the bedroom, quickly and quietly making the bed before she headed down to the main floor as well.

He wondered how long he could stay there, listening to their little world as it moved around him. The thought made him uneasy and reminded him how foreign he was in this place. Stay in bed alone, or get up to be distracted by Lothbroks. It was an easy decision to make.

He got up and went to his backpack, intending to grab a T-shirt, but instead he mindlessly took out his smartphone. It was the latest model iPhone, a gift from Mayor Ecbert. An apology, really. The memory stung, but didn’t hurt nearly as much as the knowledge of what the phone held, hidden deep in its file system. Athelstan had escaped with more secrets than anyone at the City even realised.

The phone had a full charge, but he hadn’t turned it on once since he left the City. He turned over the phone in his hands a few times before he returned it to the inner pouch of his backpack. If anyone had been trying to contact him he didn’t want to know. 

Instead he headed downstairs to look for breakfast and the Lothbroks.

~~~~

“Athelstan!” Ragnar turned to grin at Athelstan as he entered the kitchen. “It’s barely past dawn. I hope we didn’t wake you.” He was busy cracking eggs into a large cast iron skillet, a plate of smoked bacon was already set aside, ready to be eaten.

“Bjorn is too loud. He needs to learn to be stealthy, like me and mum.” Gyda told him. She and Bjorn were sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for breakfast.

Lagertha was pouring hot water into two enamel mugs. “Tea?” She asked Athelstan, and then without waiting for an answer, she swiftly pulled down another mug from the shelf and started making another for Athelstan as well.

“Oh, yes.” Athelstan started. “I mean, no, you didn’t wake me. The sun and the rooster did, but I am usually an early riser anyway…” He trailed off, realizing that, although he was up early, he didn’t really have anything to do. He sat at the large wooden kitchen table, elbows bent with his chin in his hands.

“Since you are awake you should help the children with their chores. I doubt they’ll mind the help.” Lagertha offered, knowingly.

Bjorn made a face at the suggestion, but the young boy didn’t object. Ragnar set a big plate of eggs, bacon, bread and fruit in front of Athelstan, Gyda and Bjorn before fixing his and Lagerthas breakfast. 

“You look a lot more rested today Athelstan.” Ragnar said smiling as Athelstan shoveled bacon greedily into his mouth. “I guess you slept well.” 

Athelstan snorted, mouth full, and nodded sheepishly. 

After breakfast was finished Gyda pulled on Athelstan’s sleeve insistently, as it to drag him out to the yard to start their chores. “I’ll show you how to build character.” She said to him with pride.

The first thing Athelstan learned was how little he actually knew about where his food came from. He didn’t realize, for example, that chicken eggs weren’t entirely clean when they came out of the chicken. Downy feathers and small bits of hay stuck to them. Nor are they all perfectly uniform, they come in all different sizes and colours. Bjorn shooed hens away from their nests and Gyda dared Athelstan to reach in and collect some for himself. The chickens needed to be fed and watered and Bjorn and Gyda showed Athelstan how to do both. 

Athelstan was slightly terrified to learn just how many bees lived in a beehive as Gyda showed Athelstan how to do a hive check. She wore a beekeeping suit and used a smoker to calm the bees as she lifted out a frame to show Athelstan, who stayed as far away from he swarm as he could. “When the honey is ready to be collected the bees will cap over the combs with wax.” She said excitedly. “You can help me harvest the honey!”

He also didn’t know that dairy cows needed to be milked twice a day. Gyda and Bjorn were each responsible for milking one of the five dairy cows the Lothbrooks owned, and Lagertha was keen to have Althelstan help as well.

“Usually we use the milking machines, but on Friday we choose not to use electricity on the farm, so you’ll have to learn the old way.” Lagertha told him. “Hold your fingers and thumb open like a ‘V’.” She stood strong behind a hesitant Athelstan. “And pinch at the top of the teat.”

Athelstan followed her directions exactly, his hand tensely braced against the udder of what was frankly, a gigantic beast. 

“Now squeeze the milk down and into the bucket.” 

Athelstan tried, but nothing happened. He tried again and again, nothing. “Stop!” Lagertha commanded, and Athelstan obeyed. “Do not the push the milk from the teat back into the udder.”

Lagertha considered him a short while. “The cow can tell when you are tense. Relax.” She said softly, and reached over to the cows udder. “Pet her here, it will calm both of you.” He did as he was told, and after a few moments he was feeling a lot more comfortable with the animal.

“Now try again.” So he tried again, only this time milk squirted out from the teat and into the stainless steel bucket at his feet.

“Good! Good, Athelstan. Keep going.” Athelstan blushed, strangely proud. She pat his head lightly before she left him to finish milking his cow, returning to her own work. He continued on slowly. Gyda and Bjorn waited for him once they were finished, watching him fumble with some amusement.

“That goes into the milk can.” Gyda told him when he was done. “I’ll do it!”

“Okay, Bjorn, What’s next?”

“What’s next is I go to do my school work for today.” 

“Oh. What should I do then?” Athelstan was momentarily at a bit of a loss.

“How should I know! I’m a kid, not your boss.” He said as he headed back towards the farmhouse.

“Ask father, he is always around here the mornings.” Gyda told him before she headed towards the house too, leaving him alone.

~~~~

Athelstan spotted Ragnar on the other side of the yard. He was talking to a man, a strange man who moved in strange ways. His hair was wild and bold eyeliner traced his eyes. The pair of men didn’t notice Athelstan as he walked towards them, but he could hear small snippets of their conversation as he approached.

“You know how Haraldson feels about outsiders, Ragnar.” The man warned. “Haraldson barely tolerates it when you and Lagertha have people stay over for a night or two. And He’s already trying as hard as he can to discredit you with the others. What do you want? To feed him more ammunition in his private war against you?”

“It’s fine, Floki. The others value their own agency over Haraldson’s politics. They don’t care what I do, as long as it doesn’t hurt the collective.”

“Well Haraldson is getting better at convincing people you hurt the collective.” Floki was angry, but not at Ragnar.

“People will see though his deceptions before things get too bad for us here. I’m not changing the way I live my life to appease him.” Ragnars tone was firm.

“You know me, I’d never tell you what to do on your farm. And fuck Haraldson and his shitty ideas. But…” 

“Althestan!” Ragnar cut off Floki, noticing him at last. “This is Floki, he owns the farm adjacent to ours.”

“Hello,” Athelstan gingerly held out his hand for Floki. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

“You can’t interrupt what you started in the first place.” Floki took his hand with a tight grip and shook it forcefully. “Athelstan. And what is it that you do when you aren’t destroying touring bikes?”

“I’m a bureaucrat. For the City of Wessex.” Athelstan pulled back his hand and held it against his side.

“Oh, fucking hell, Ragnar,” Floki reeled dramatically. “He works for the government? Really? Guys like him ARE the problem, and you want me to help him.”

“Be nice, Floki.” Ragnar looked apologetically at a stunned Athelstan before he looked back to Floki. “He’s our guest, and he needs our help. Isn’t that enough?”

Floki and Ragnar held eye contact for a few tense moments before Floki responded. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“Good. Look, I have a lot more to get done today. Athelstan, will you show Floki your bike? He needs to get a better look at it. He’ll help you fix whatever is wrong with it.” Floki rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah.” Athelstan responded warily. Floki didn’t seem to want to help him, but he turned towards the shed where he saw his bike the night before.

As soon as Ragnar was out of sight Floki started to rant again. “Don’t you dare take advantage of the Lothbrok’s hospitality. Ragnar has a soft heart, and you seem to have gotten on his good side. Lagertha would be fine on her own except she trusts Rangar’s judgement. Too much, if you ask me.” They reached the bike, and Floki was inspecting each part of it closely. Athelstan stared, jaw clenched, at the bike on the ground.

“And I’m not so trusting. I don’t know anything about you, who you are, where you came from or why. So I’m warning you: If you hurt them, any of them in any way, you will answer to me.” Floki seemed to have finished both his inspection and his lecture.

“I’m not… I won’t.” Athelstan looked up from the ground, and up at Floki. “I’m only here for a short while, to fix my bike, and continue on with my summer tour. Lagertha and Ragnar say I can stay until then, and I like it here.” Floki stared at him, hard and without sympathy. “But, how about this: If you tell me to leave, I’ll go. If I become a problem for the Lothbrok Family I’ll go. We’ll fix my bike and I won’t outstay my welcome here. And then I’ll be gone.” 

Floki sighed, but the intensity of his gaze softened slightly. “Well. It may be a while until the bike is fixed. You need quite a few new parts, and this is a fancy bike! Two to three weeks, at least, for specialty parts to come in the mail. I’ll order what you need today, and I’ll help you fix the bike when they come. And I will hold you to what you said.”

Athelstan nodded. Ragnar was right about the politics of Kattegat being more complicated than they seemed. “Thanks Floki. I won’t cause any trouble, but will listen to you if I do. And I can pay for the parts, and for your time. Whatever is fair.”

“Nope, no,” Floki spit to the gravel in distaste. “That’s not how we work here in Kattegat. Money doesn’t work within the collective, and while you’re staying with Lagertha and Ragnar you’re to behave as if you’re a part of the collective. Come to my farm for a day and give me a hand. A days worth labour should be enough to cover the repair of your bicycle.”

“Yeah, okay. That’d be interesting, actually.” Athelstan smiled, Floki seemed like an unstable guy, but he was just looking out for his friend. His motivations were clear, and Athelstan felt secure in that knowledge. It should be easy to avoid Floki’s wrath.

”Do we have a deal?” Floki held out his to Athelstan again, this time with a lot less aggression.

“Yes, we have a deal.”

~~~~

Lothbrok Farm, like all of the Kattegat Farms, was completely off the grid. All of their electricity came from a combination of solar, wind and, in the case of heating and cooking, a wood burning fireplace and a bio-pellet stove. 

“It’s important, so so important, that we don’t rely on anyone we don’t personally know.” Ragnar explained over lunch.

“So you only rely on people you can trust. It makes sense, really, but that’s awfully convenient.” As appealing as the Kattegat Collective appeared Athelstan remained skeptical of its political structure.

“No, no. What you mean is ‘awfully simplistic’. Of course I don’t trust everyone in Kattegat. People don’t work that way. We are all individuals first, with our own motivations, our own goals. Andsome of the time those goals conflict. Not everyone in Kattegat shares the same philosophy as I do. Not even Lagertha and I agree on everything.”

“The difference here is that we are honest about our true natures. We agree to work together because it suits us, and will work against each other when it doesn’t. And that honesty binds us closer as a society.”

“And that’s why we don’t use municipal power.” He said as he took a bite of his meat. “Because I don’t know who is at the top, I don’t know who controls the municipal hydro. So, I can’t know their motivations, and I can’t tell if they are being honest with me.

“But I do know that they have no reason to be honest with me, and I know that they don’t know or care for me.” Ragnar was ranting, passionately, but madly. 

“They do care, I mean, not about you personally, maybe, but the government does care if its constituents get power or not. I mean there is a social contract in place. The government cares for our needs as a whole, and we continue to pay taxes. We give them the power to act on our behalf.” Athelstan countered, fully engrossed in the discussion. “Sure, not everyone is happy, not everyone is treated optimally, but the government does try its best?”

“Does it? Does it have to try its best? Or does it have to try just hard enough to avoid revolution?” Ragnar asked.

“Revolution is rather extreme, though. If a government fails, we simply vote new leaders in. They are accountable to us.” Athelstan was sure of this. “That’s what democracy is. That’s how it works.”

“Ah, the politicians. I’ve never met a politician who I would actually want to vote for. Politicians are so far removed from the people who vote for them, and once you see their true colours its already too late.” Ragnar paused to read Athelstan, who had reeled slightly. “Judging by the horrified look on your face you know exactly what I mean.” Mayor Ecbert’s face, rage-filled and uncompromising flashed through Athelstan’s mind. 

“I… I think I know what you mean, but it’s not as bad as all that.” Athelstan said distractedly, playing with his food.

“Look.” Ragnar grasped Athelstan’s wrist lightly, pulling him back into the here and now. “Politicians have one job: Get re-elected. All of their actions are to support this goal. But being re-elected is very different than making the best decisions for your public.”

“But most of the time… Politicians make the right decisions most of the time.” Athelstan said, more for himself then for Ragnar.

“Sadly, its far easier and more profitable to be selfish and deceptive than it is to be honest and self-sacrificing. And that selfish lack of empathy for me as an individual, as a living breathing human being is at the core of all structural violence. When the decision is made to turn off my electricity, in favour of a different part of town, in favor of someone with more money or status than me, the municipal worker that makes the decision…”

“Bureaucrat.” Athelstan said shaking his head. He was a bureaucrat too, after all. 

“Yeah. Because that bureaucrat doesn’t know me or my family, they can’t empathize with my needs. And I’d rather go through the trouble of setting up my own, sustainable, green source of energy than allow myself to become just another statistic to be analyzed.”

“And that’s why Friday is power-out night.” Athelstan cocked his head to the side, considering Ragnar carefully. “Because of the structural violence inherent in the system?” 

“That and strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government.” Ragnar said, very seriously.

“Help, help, I’m being repressed!” Lagertha cut in, coming from around a corner, wrapping her hands around Ragnar’s neck and kissing it gently as he laughed and kissed her back.

Athelstan just squeaked, earning him an amused look from both Lothbroks. They were mad. Madly in love, madly living. Their strangeness filled Athelstan’s chest.

~~~~

The lack of electricity was most apparent after dark. Bjorn and Gyda lit candles and wicker lanterns that lined the pathways to and from the house and barn. On the other side of the fruit orchard there was a protected fire pit with log seating arranged around it. 

Floki was back for the evening, this time with his partner Helga, who looked to be about eleven months pregnant. She sat with her feet up, back supported by a seat carved into an upright log. Floki brought an acoustic guitar with him, and he played it absent-mindedly as the others gathered around the fire. Athelstan sat alone with his back to one log. Ragnar and Lagertha shared one seat, and the kids shifted between the logs, never in one place for too long. 

“Now usually,” Floki began, still playing the guitar, softly emphasising his words. He stared at Athelstan mischievously. “Now is the time when we start telling each other stories. How about you start Athelstan. Tell us how you came to leave the City on your great big biking adventure.”

“I-I don’t know.” Athelstan stuttered. “I’m not really a storyteller.”

“Come on Athelstan, try. Tell us a story.” Floki pressed. Lagertha looked like she was about to strangle Floki, but she didn’t get the chance.

“Okay,” Athelstan conceded, quiet for a few moments before he began:

“I joined the public service right out of university. I thought I could make a difference. And I thought that if I had a good job, one where I could be useful and make a good salary and pay off my student debts that I’d be happy. I mean, what else is there? Why else would I spend every waking moment of my early adulthood either at school or working to pay for school? So I could wear nice suits and buy a condo and make the world a better place. Right?”

“And there are so many problems in Wessex, I grew up in one of the worst neighbourhoods in the City and I always swore that I’d make it better for the kids that followed me. And I thought, you know, where would be better to solve those problems than from within the City itself?”

“But I wasn’t strong enough.” He paused, Floki still played the guitar, into the quiet.

“I didn’t change the City, the City changed me. I wasn’t part of the solution, I was part of the problem. Gradually, I figured out that I was actually making the CIty a worse place to live. I was miserable, and it drove me insane. Every day, every action was only to serve the interests of those in charge. And I couldn’t think my way out of it. I couldn’t see a solution. So I left. I had to. I left because if I stayed I would be trapped forever.” The bonfire crackled, Athelstan stared deeply into it, deep into memories he had managed to push away until now. 

Floki stopped playing, and all was quiet. Even the children sensed the tension.

“That was a good story Athelstan, sad, but with a good lesson.” Lagertha said after some time, nodding to the children. They nodded back, not quite understanding.

“And hopefully with a happy ending.” Said Ragnar. “Yet to be found.” Lagertha ran a hand through Ragnar’s hair, comforting him.

Athelstan felt his face go hot. They were so beautiful, so together, and so in sync. He envied their relationship, sure, but he knew that that wasn’t all he was feeling. He had fallen for couples before. It was his biggest vice, and his biggest secret. Experience told him that as long as he didn’t act on his urges, everything would turn out fine. Despite this he found himself staring, mouth open. 

Floki whistled apologetically. “Okay! How about something a bit more uplifting! Any ideas? Kids?”

“I want to hear the story about about how Mother and Father met!” Gyda offered. 

Bjorn just groaned dramatically, rolling his eyes. “I’ve heard that story sooo many times.”

“Yes, and it’s been different every time.” Gyda countered. “I want to hear how they tell it to Athelstan. Will you tell it? Mother?”

“Of course we will.” Ragnar said as Lagertha started the story. 

“When I was eighteen-years-old, I decided I wanted to see if I could survive in the wilderness alone. I had been on many outtrips to the mountains near my hometown. I went with my father and brothers, often for weeks at a time. We lived off of the land, fishing and trapping and gathering wild edibles. But I had never gone without them, even though they had often gone without me.” She began, her voice was full of drama and intrigue. Athelstan was transfixed.

“I decided that if I could live alone in the woods for two weeks, with only my wits and skills, then I could call myself a woman.”

“When I felt like I had walked deep enough into the mountains I found a nice place on high, flat ground and made a shelter from evergreen boughs and a little camp. It was near a nice river with a lot of fish, and blueberries grew on the rocks nearby, and I shot birds and small game with my crossbow, so I was happy and well fed.”

“Late one night, when the full moon was high in the sky, I was awoken by the most terrible noise. Screams and growls, so loud in the mountains that they echoed everywhere. I was alone in the dark, with no light but the moon, and the noise was so horrible. I was sure that there was a monster in the night, half-man and half-bear, who would come to eat me in my sleep.”

“Instead of accepting my fate and going back to sleep, I decided to investigate. I followed the sound as well as I could, searching for the monster by the light of the moon. I soon came to a shallow gully, cut into the rocks.”

“And there, in the cavern below me, between two rocks was a scrawny boy about my own age. His arms and legs were all scratched up, and he was holding a knife in one hand and a camera in the other!” She said, smiling, like she had found a treasure.

“I was not scrawny! I wasn’t quite as muscular as I am today, sure. And I wasn’t trapped! I was waiting for the perfect shot!” Ragnar interrupted, now that he had entered the story. “See, when I was eighteen, and much stupider and more stubborn than I am today, I decided I wanted to go out into the mountains too. Only I had never been as a child. I went camping, sure, and I read a lot of books on survival and thought I would be okay. I brought a big pack full of food, a tent and sleeping bag, and, of course, my camera. I wanted to capture as many different types of wildlife as I could.”

“By the second night the bear, who seemed to have a taste for human food already, had tracked me and my delicious smelling pack down. THe bear stole my pack right out of the tree I was storing it in. And when I tried to save it, because it was my only source of food, he came after me. I barely made it into the rocks in time to avoid certain death.”

“So what did you do?” Athelstan asked, on the edge of his seat.

“It was clear that the bear wasn’t going to stop until the boy was dead, and we were alone, a two day hike out into the woods, at least. So I did what I had to do. I killed it.” Lagertha answered simply.

“She killed it! With her crossbow. Right in front of me. Only I didn’t see her until after the bear was dead. One moment I was screaming for dear life, and the next, there were three arrows right through the heart of the bear.” 

“When father tells the story he says they fought off the bear together.” Bjorn says.

“I helped!” Ragnar protested. 

“With what, your camera?” Lagertha scoffed as she leaned into him.

“I had a knife!” He was grinning, arm wrapped tightly around her waist. “When she came down from the cliffs I thought she was a crazy hill-woman. Beautiful, but deadly. She reached out her hand to me and said…”

“Hello, I’m Lagertha.”

“And he said…” 

“Hello Lagertha, I’m Ragnar…. and we shook hands.”

“And then what?” Gyda asked.

“And then she started to clean the bear! She cut it’s stomach open and started to gut it!”

“I was nervous. I had been in the mountains alone for so long, and didn’t expect to see anyone at all, nevermind someone so young and handsome, like Ragnar.”

“And she said.:”

“Are you going to help, or what?”

“So I did! We stayed up all night, she showed me how to field dress and butcher a bear, and took me back to her camp where we cooked some of the meat.” 

“It was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted. Mind you, I was a devout vegetarian up until that very moment. I still only eat meat Lagertha has killed for me. It was a part of our marriage vows.” Ragnar added as an aside to Athelstan. 

“So he ate the bear meat I cooked, from bear I had saved him from.”

“And then we made wild love under the moonlight!” Ragnar exclaimed, triumphant as he waggled his eyebrows. Lagertha laughed, giddy with nostalgia.

“Ewwwww!” Said Bjorn. Gyda giggled.

“No, not ew. What did we teach you two about sex?” Ragnar asked his children, patiently.

“Sex is a natural and fun way for consenting adults who like and respect each other to show their affection.” Gyda rattled off the phrase like it were a history fact or times table. 

“And?” Lagertha prompted.

“No means no! Always respect your partner’s boundaries.” Bjorn declared. “I know!”

“And?” Ragnar pressed.

“If we have any questions, we can ask Uncle Floki!” Replied Bjorn mischievously, as Floki waved at Bjorn with a little menace.

“Close. You can always come to your father or I with any questions. Or Floki, it seems.” 

Bjorn made a fart noise with his mouth. “WE KNOW! Can me and Gyda go find sticks for marshmallows now?”

“Yes, but you have to find one for Athelstan too.” Lagertha replied.

Bjorn grinned and disappeared into the dark with his sister.

Athelstan was a little shocked at the frankness of their discussion, and it must have shown on his face.

“Gyda is eleven, Bjorn is ten. We’re not even sure they understand what sex is yet, not entirely.” Ragnar offered as a partial explanation.

“But we don’t want them to think sex is this sinful, forbidden act. Something only for people deeply in love or already married. And if they can understand consent and respect early, maybe they’ll avoid some of the shame and pain that most people experience while trying to figure out sex and relationships growing up.” Lagertha finished. She leaned into Ragnar’s side, as he stroked her shoulder.

Athelstan felt his face go hot again, with shame or admiration he wasn’t sure. 

“Raising kids is the hardest thing we’ve ever tried to do. But also the most rewarding. You have a big adventure ahead of yourselves Floki and Helga!” 

“But we’ll have Aunt Lagertha and Uncle Ragnar to help us along the way.” Helga said, as she smiled warmly and rubbed her pregnant belly.

“Of course!” The Lothbrok’s said simultaneously.

The children came back with three marshmallow sticks in tow. 

“Roast me a marshmallow Athelstan!” Ragnar demanded, grinning. “And one for my beautiful wife.”

Athelstan, still blushing, was only too glad to comply. He picked out two of the square homemade marshmallows from the tray Helga had brought over. His stick was forked at the end, He stuck one marshmallow on each fork and slowly turned them over the red embers of the fire pit. He was focused on his task entirely, careful to brown each evenly, and ensuring that both were melted through.

When he was done he looked up to the Lothbroks. They were watching him with a keen interest. Lagertha whispered something into Ragnar’s ear, and he grinned wildly.

Athelstan held the stick firmly, and turned it to offer the marshmallows up to his two hosts. They each reached out and plucked a marshmallow from his stick, and each took a bite.

“Mmm. Perfect.” Said Ragnar, licking his fingers and looking to his wife. Somewhere Floki and Helga were laughing and shaking their heads, but Athelstan didn’t notice.

“Yes, I agree. Perfect.” Lagertha had finished hers in one bite. ”Now make one for yourself.” Lagertha said, firmly. 

Athelstan smiled, large and genuine, and returned to roasting another marshmallow. He wasn’t sure if the Lothbroks knew what they were doing, casually ordering him about, telling him exactly what he should be doing, but Athelstan liked it. It gave him purpose and gave him confidence that he was being useful, even in this strange place. 

Ragnar stole the guitar from Floki and started to play another song. It was something folky, one everyone around the fire knew. Helga told them a story about the birth of Orion the Hunter, and Floki described the first time he ever fixed something and everyone was warm and relaxed.

It was late when Helga and Floki said their goodbyes, the kids had long been sent to bed and even the crickets had stopped chirping. Ragnar poured a large bucket of water on the dying embers of the fire.

Athelstan was suddenly aware of just how dark it was in the night. He looked up to the stars, millions of millions of them poured over him. It was the milky way. Bright and everywhere.

“Such an infinite sky. How could I ever think I know anything at all with a sky like that.” He said absently. 

“Every time I think about how lost I am, I remember the stars like this and tell myself I’m no more or less lost than any other being in the universe. How can there be a right life for me, when I’m just hurtling through space on a insignificant rock.” A cool wind blew quiet in the dark night.

“Don’t worry. We’ll guide you back safe.” Lagertha said, as she wrapped a strong, warm arm around Athelstan’s shoulders.

“We may not know much about the universe, but we do know this farm pretty well.” Ragnar placed his arm on Athelstan’s back too, tucked under Lagertha’s, the intensity of the tingling increased, lower now. Athelstan was happy for the dark, glad that the house would be dark too. He shivered from arousal, hopefully hidden from his married hosts.

“Thank you.” He said, quietly.

~~~~

“You’re coming with me this afternoon Athelstan!” Ragnar found Athelstan in the garden, where he and Bjorn were finishing up weeding. Ragnar pulled Athelstan up off of the soil by his shoulders. “I’m going to show you the true cash crop of this farm.” 

Bjorn rolled his eyes at the two of them and continued weeding.

“I have to admit, I have wondered where you go off to every day.” Athelstan always saw Ragnar in the mornings as he tended to the major crops of the farm, driving around on his tractor and walking through the fields taking notes, but he he never saw him in the afternoon.

“It is the secret to our success. We’d have gone under long ago otherwise, and it is my true passion.” Ragnar waggled his eyebrows at Athelstan, a mysterious a playful tone in his voice.

Athelstan suspected marijuana, or at least he would have if he had ever seen anyone at Lothbrok Farm, or even one of the other Kattegatians, smoking pot. Maybe Ragnar went off every afternoon to get high? It was possible? Athelstan worried that he’d have to tell Ragnar that he didn’t partake in _any_ inebriating substances. Athelstan didn’t even drink, although he had noticed a surprising lack of even that at the farm.

They walked together on a well worn path between two fields, one of corn, the other of soybeans, and headed towards the wooded area at the back of the Lothbrok property. It was a hot day, but the air cooled down as soon as they entered the forest. Athelstan soon spotted a shack in the woods, and wasn’t surprised when Ragnar headed right towards it.

“Ahah! We’re here! Welcome to my Herb Hut.” Ragnar opened the door to reveal thousands of drying plants, all hung upside down from the rafters and along the walls, hanging on strings tied in elegant patterns throughout the large open room. Athelstan stepped inside. The hut was very fragrant, intensely floral. The smell was familiar, but it took a moment for Athelstan to place it. 

“Tea.” Athelstan says simply. “This is where your tea comes from. You make it here?”

“Yes!” Ragnar seemed pleased. A corresponding spike of happiness surged through Athelstan. “Very good. This is where I make all of the tea that we sell to the local community. All are herbal, local and organic wild teas, and all of the blends are unique to our farm. You wouldn’t think so, but the family makes a good chunk of money from selling tea. Although most people assume that Lagertha makes them.” Ragnar seemed hesitant to admit this.

“They obviously don’t know Lagertha too well… Or you, for that matter.” Athelstan observed, prompting Rangar to smile warmly. 

“Today, though, we’re going to be collecting chamomile from a meadow not far from here. Take this basket.” Athelstan did, and followed Ragnar out of the Herb Hut and along another well-worn path through the forest. 

The woods opened up to reveal a small, sheltered meadow, full to the brim with wild flowers. Athelstan smiled in the sun, and looked to Ragnar. Ragnar was watching him, smiling.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” He reached down to pick a small bunch of yellow flowers that looked like baby daisies and pinched tops of the flowers between his index finger and thumb. “These ones are chamomile. Here, try it.” He gestured to the flowers at Athelstans feet. 

Athelstan mimicked Ragnar, picking the chamomile and smelling the pulp. It was unmistakably chamomile, strong and fragrant.

“Your challenge for today is to fill this basket with flowers. Pick near the base of the plant, so the stalks are long enough to tie in bunches and hang to dry.” Athelstan nodded and began, obedient to Ragnar’s directions. 

Rangar took a few long strides away from Athelstan and started to fill his own basket, which he did with speed and efficiency. Athelstan was surprised by the peace on his face as he worked, seeing such a large man so happy gathering flowers should have seemed silly, but it wasn’t at all. It was clear that Ragnar had found what made him happy in life. Athelstan was also acutely aware that not very many people had seen Ragnar like this. Ragnar caught him staring more than once throughout the day, but didn’t seem to mind, as long as Athelstan was doing his job.

After hanging tied bunches of chamomile in the Herb Hut they started to walk back to the farmhouse, walking side by side. Both were quiet, and Ragnar watched Athelstan as stared into the green of the woods.

Suddenly, Ragnar stopped walking. “Athelstan, Lagertha told me something last night. It was just a suspicion, but I wanted to ask you if it was true.”

Athelstan stopped, frozen in place. Ragnar was looking at him with intent, his face was serious, but unreadable. What did Lagertha sense in him? Did Ragnar knew that he was attracted to his wife? Was he going to ask him to leave? Athelstan blushed, looked down to his shoes, and waited patiently for Ragnar’s scorn.

“Athelstan, do you like to be told what to do?” 

Athelstan gasped slightly. He could feel his blush deepen, his face burned under Ragnar’s gaze, but he did not reply. Blood pooled deep in his gut, his senses on high alert. How did they know?

“Athelstan, look at me.” 

He did. The eye contact was sudden and near-involuntary. Athelstan was in a dangerous place. He wanted to obey, every part of his body told him to obey. But he also knew how vulnerable this made him. His mind screamed at him to run. All the hurt, all the painful memories of his past warning him in a rush. In his mind he was was overwhelmed, but externally he didn’t move.

“Do you like to be told what to do? Answer me.”

Sudden clarity, a thought broke though, and a single word response came from Athelstan's lips. “Yes.”

Athelstan could see the interest on Ragnar’s face, the desire, but also something else. Conflict? This wasn’t what Athelstan expected at all. Every moment he had spent with Ragnar over the past few days rushed through his mind. 

How could this happen?

“Kneel for me. Right here.” Athelstan paused a moment to process the request, then swiftly kneeled, his head up, knees pressed hard into the mossy ground.

Ragnar smirked, just a small smile over an otherwise worried expression. He took a step towards Athelstan and cupped the kneeling man’s chin. “Good.” He said. “Good boy.” 

Athelstan felt his pupils go wide, he lost all focus. His mind stopped whirring entirely, no thoughts could penetrate this place. His place of submission.

“I think I know what you are.” Ragnar whispered, close to Athelstan’s face as he stroked his cheek. Athelstan closed his eyes and softly leaned into the touch. “And it’s not a bureaucrat.”

Ragnar dropped his hand and stepped back from Athelstan, his eyes were dark and obviously concerned. “I’m going back to the house now. I have to discuss this with my wife.” Athelstan let out a small cry. He was painfully hard, and he could see now that Ragnar was too. “When I leave you should take care of that.” Ragnar smiled hungrily, as he nodded towards Athelstan’s lap. “ And I’ll see you at dinner.” Ragnar turned his back to Athelstan and started to walk back through the woods towards the farm. 

Athelstan stayed, kneeling for some time as Rangar walked away. His breathing was laboured, his skin was tingling and he barely noticed that his knees were getting damp, soaked through with mud. 

He told himself not to touch himself. It wasn’t right, Ragnar was a married man, and Lagertha was too amazing a woman to disrespect in this way. The last thing he wanted was to disrupt their relationship. They were too perfect together.

But the longer Athelstan waited, the more he thought about what had just happened, and the more he ached for release. The more he saw no other alternative. 

His head fell as he unzipped his shorts. He pulled out his erection, and with four short strokes, came hard on to the forest floor, panting and confused and thinking of what Ragnar was going to tell Lagertha.

He was in big trouble, that’s for sure. He just didn’t know what kind.

~~~~~

It was a long time before Athelstan could convince himself to get up off of the ground. He was too weighed down by shame and guilt and fear of the unknown. But eventually the damp and cold convinced him that he did have to return to the house. At least for the night.

Ragnar was gone when Athelstan got back from the forest. In the meantime, not knowing what else to do, he helped Lagertha prepare dinner.

“Did you have a good time gathering flowers with my husband?” She asked him, teasingly as she chopped the potatoes he had just peeled. 

“Y-yeah. Yes. I was surprised. Ragnar doesn’t seem like the type that’d be into… tea? Tea gathering. I don’t even know what it’s called.” Athelstan flushed at the memory of working in the meadow with Ragnar. And at what had happened afterwards. 

“It’s his favourite part of living this life, I think.” She replied to him. It was as if she didn’t notice the tension building around him. He felt as if he might snap in two from it. “That’s enough potatoes. Go set the table now, Athelstan.”

He stopped peeling potatoes immediately. “Yes ma’am.” Lagertha raised her eyebrows, and looked him over quickly. “I mean… Yes, Lagertha, of course. I’d love to help.” He stumbled backwards, about to fall, but she caught his arm, firm but gentle. 

Athelstan’s eyes went wide, and he lost control. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry. Nothing happened, and it’s my fault and I’m sorry.” The words came frantically from him, a panicked string of apologies and half-explanations that went on and on until finally, she kissed him. 

Her mouth was strong and sure on his, an a hot surge of pleasure filled him from head to to toe. He kissed her back, as she pulled him closer.

For one powerful moment he was hers, every movement was hers, and everything was under control. When she stopped he was silent and still, his lips were red and swollen and speechless.

“It’s okay, Athelstan. Look at me. Breathe.” Athelstan let out a breath that he didn’t realise he was holding. “Don’t worry about it so much. We’ll talk tonight, all of us. Okay?” 

When he didn’t respond, she leaned towards his ear and whispered: “Nod if you understand.” 

Athelstan nodded. 

“Good boy.” She whispered, then let him go and returned to preparing food.

“Are you still going to set the table, then?” She looked at him over her shoulder, eyes twinkling with arousal.

Athelstan nodded again, and went back to his job, his mind cleared for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! All your Kudos and comments are very encouraging. This is officially the longest piece of fiction I've ever written, and my only published fanfic, so I'm a bit out of my comfort zone here. I'm looking for a beta reader to read through the next three parts. Someone with experience writing M/F/M sexitimes would be fantastic. Let me know! - Rivette.


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